In The Dark
by Linaaa.c
Summary: After the deadly crash-landing of the Hunter-Gratzner, the survivors are thrust into an unknown world that is shrouded in darkness every twenty-two years. Creatures of horrific proportions lurk in the near perpetual night, as well as something much more sinister.
1. Chapter 1

At Comet's End

The darkness nearly consumed the rear end of the space shuttle that was traveling at a snail's pace above a distant ring of asteroids. The Hunter Gratzner was a long, slim ship with many different parts to it, as any ship would have. But this ship was much more unique. It was a cargo/passenger vessel, and held 40 some passengers headed for New Mecca and other places. There were at least twenty eight in the main passenger deck—the other twelve had to be placed elsewhere. Then there was the cargo hold.

They were both connected very closely—the main passenger hold being directly next to the stock deck—and nearly everything was stored in the cargo hold. There were weapons, for settlers that were moving to New Mecca, water and packed and dried food, clothes and blankets and pillows, the luggage of the sleeping passengers—nearly everything you could think of. And everything had been packed tightly together, so that it was all in one place and not scattered when the passengers woke. But there was one thing being held in its own place of honor, so to speak, directly on the weld mark between the two holds—as a sort of protection. Not for it, but for everything else—and it was in a stasis pod.

It was a man, mid to late twenties maybe. He had the skin of light Caramel—the color covering the entirety of his brawny arms and his partly shielded face. There was a gag between his teeth, and a tattered cloth over his eyes as a makeshift blindfold. On the front of his stasis pod, running across from the bottom left to the top right, read 'Lockout Protocol: No Early Release.' The stasis pods that kept the individuals standing upright held a kind of chemical to keep the people under—they were in cryo-sleep. When they left the dock at the boarding station in the space port, they were given a sedative to make them go under for the trip past distant planets and galaxies—it was a seemingly endless journey to the port at New Mecca and Vyrox [1]. But the sedative was useless for the Lockdown passenger. There had been rumors that when given the sedative to start the Cryo process, only your primitive side remained conscious when the process was complete—your animal side. He was fully awake.

The ship was travelling in complete silence—every living being on the craft deep in their sea of dreams; the only noise being the breathing of the man in the Lockdown pod as he peered through a tiny rip in the material that shielded his eyes.

He could smell the passengers around him. Leather clothing and the still familiar scent of grease and oil from machines that were welded and built—the earthy, pine-like smell—possibly from old pieces of wooden things that were collected or sold. And then a sweet smell permeated the confined cell and filled his nose. He nearly groaned in approval, _'_ _Arousal,'_ he thought. The sickly nectar-like odor that graced him in his tightly packed pod was ecstasy inducing. He could almost swear it was a mixture of strawberries and a little sweat-slickened sugar. Normally, it would make him bare his teeth in annoyance from its intensity—but the way it drifted in with him in his cell, and the certain _aroma_ it gave off almost made his eyes shut tight in concentration—wanting to preserve the air around him as long as he could.

He stayed like that for the longest time before a monstrous lurch shook him from the serenity of the smell around him. He growled in irritation, baring his teeth as best he could past the gag. Oh, if only his teeth could rip through the restrictive piece of shit...

His anger was replaced by a short-lived wave of panic as the craft began to fall from its orbit. He cocked his head to the side in wonder. He hadn't felt that emotion since he was just a cub on his home planet. But as soon as it came, it went. And even as contact between the ship and the unknown planet's atmosphere created turbulence, he remained still—not one trace of fear nor panic nor hysteria in his blood.

After the short few minutes it took for the craft to fall, he could feel the weight of the ship becoming lighter. There were sections of the machine coming apart. He smirked. Maybe after the hunk of metal landed, he'd be able to free himself from the makeshift prison he'd been placed in.

It wasn't long before he'd find out.

* * *

I woke up face down and tasted sand and blood on my lips. _Hadn't I been in a stasis pod?_ I tried pushing myself up a bit and slowly opened my eyes to look around, and was instantly met with a vicious pounding in my head. My eyes squeezed shut and my mouth opened in a silent groan as I brought a hand up to shield my face from the intense, burning light that invaded my senses. Through the low, drum-like pounding in my ears I heard distant voices, and my heart dropped. _Am I going insane?_ I was panicking. _Is the heat making my mind deteriorate? Or is it the loss of blood getting the job done?_ Just when I was certain I'd fall into hysteria I heard the voices get closer, and then I felt two strong arms around me—lifting me up and carrying me to God knows where. I tried to protest and ask what exactly happened, but my body refused to let my mind take control. My vision began to fade, and soon enough, all that remained was black.

He could smell it again, but this time the honey-sweet scent he smelled before was clouded with blood and hysterics. And that made his head swim with a great deal of things. Confusion, disappointment, worry, protective instinct—but anger was the superior of all. He didn't know why he was angry, but then again he didn't really care to know. All that he did know was he had to follow that scent as closely as possible without tipping off a certain blue-eyed devil.

 _"…_ _.ake u…. Love, you….ave to wa…up…"_ I could hear a soft but firm voice in my head, and immediately my mind went back to hysterics. But as soon as I remembered the arms that carried me before, my eyes flew open and I shot up from where I laid. Regret came in the instant form of excruciating pain. I groaned as I caught myself on the table beneath me with one hand—the other coming up to console my aching head. Again, my eyes closed tightly to keep any invasive energy from swarming my senses. A soothing accented voice accompanied the soft hand that met my shoulder.

"You have to be careful, love—you can't just shoot up like a pine sprout at the moment," I slowly took my hand away from my face and let my eyes adjust enough to dull the pounding agony in my frontal lobe. When they settled, they met a pair of the most calming green eyes that I could remember. "Wha….." I groaned in pain, "…What hap-pened?" I stuttered. The woman that stood before me gave a soft smile—the kind that prefaced bad news. "The ship we were on….. It crashed, love. Flew through a comet's tail, we did," my eyes blew up to the size of platters for a split second, and then remembered how I had been laying in the desert. I had landed in the sand. My eyes immediately returned to their exaggerated size when I looked down and saw my leg.

Bloody. Aching. Broken.

Before I knew it, I began to breathe heavily—almost hyperventilating. I could tell that the woman with green eyes was worried and tried to calm me, but it didn't do much good. It got worse and worse, until a strong and reassuring hand rested on my back. My head turned so fast my neck almost snapped. There was a man, somewhat short and scruffy—his beard almost matching the color of his russet eyes.

"Sweetheart, you've got to calm yourself. All this excessive breathin's got your heart pumping, and that excessive blood flow's not gonna help your leg here," he motioned to my pitiful appendage. I swallowed audibly and nodded, trying to control my ramped breathing—all without moving my eyes from my leg. But with all the hard work I was doing trying to keep from screaming, the words that came to my ears nearly made me faint then and there.

"Sorry to say this, sweetheart, but we're gonna have to set that," he nodded towards my leg. My eyes shot towards him in a begging sort of way— _please don't rip my leg off,_ or something to that effect. I received my second smile that day—the same one the woman had given me—and I groaned internally. He was going to do it with or without my approval. I gulped again, sure the whole world could hear it, and started to look around for something to bite down on. He seemed to have beaten to it.

Handing me a small wooden rod, he waited for me to put it between my teeth and close my eyes—he told me that if I was skittish about blood or broken bones or anything of the sort that it would probably be in my best interest to. He gently put one hand at my knee, and the other just below the long gash that ran towards my ankle. I winced, not expecting the dull pain of contact around my wound. When his palms softly tightened around my leg, I held my breath.

 _Three….Tw—_

My mental countdown hadn't reached its end before he twisted and I heard and _felt_ my bones touch once again. My eyes flew open and my face distorted into a look that portrayed the worst pain someone has ever endured in the history of life itself. The wooden dowel rolled from my lips as I opened my mouth and stray tears fled from my eyes as I screwed them shut in agony—screaming out the loudest shriek I had ever heard myself produce. I could again feel the hand at my back, soothing me. Or at least trying to. I could hear the woman sigh before she spoke again.

"Zeke, I'll go on and once over the others. Stay with her for a while, and then help her out so she can recoup," she said softly. 'Zeke' only grunted gently as he continued to rub soothing circles between my shoulder blades. I tried hard to control my breathing, and held onto the edges of the metal table until I thought my knuckles would bleed.

* * *

It was stronger now. The sweet, addicting scent. Still shrouded by blood and hysterics, but now he could smell the scent of rust and oil, next to agonizing pain. Worse than a slow death, or so the person emitted. He growled lowly, his white teeth showing from beneath full lips and his nose wrinkling up in aggression. Whoever was altering such a saccharine smell was going to have their intestines for a belt.

It had been maybe two hours or so, I suppose, but the swelling or aching didn't die at all. Zeke insisted I go out and get something to drink, if for nothing else. I tried to protest, but my voice came out hoarse and my throat felt like it was lined with razors—to which he softly smirked. He came over to the side of the table and helped me get down after a while. He wrapped a supportive arm around my waist and took my arm around his shoulder. I felt foolish as I hopped and hobbled along next to him in his full stride, and soon the silly feeling was accompanied by uneasiness as we ambled out of the room and down a ragged hall towards another. Only I somehow knew that this one would be filled with unrivaled anger and panic.

A broken neck would have been better.


	2. Chapter 2

Missing

We slowly made our way through twists and turns of charred and scrapped metal—the remnants of the Gratzner. I cringed at the sight of it. _Was I the lucky one?_ It didn't take long for us to make it to where everyone else was gathered. That woman was there again, the one with the green eyes. I studied her for a moment, just to take in everything. Brown hair, a series of belts and tools, and dirt covered utility boots. Huh. Then there were eight more, including Zeke. I could tell from the corner of my eye that he was giving me a soft smile—not like the one before. One that was comforting. ' _Take your time.'_

It seemed that our arrival into the room grabbed everyone's attention, as they all looked up from their business to watch us. Instantly, I started to blush. My eyes darted to the ground, finding sudden interest in my own feet. I could hear a deep chuckle from somewhere in the room, and a short scuffling of feet. A deep but soft voice followed.

"Do not be troubled, child," I looked up to see a man with dark skin in holy garbs, holding some sort of rosary in his calloused hands. It seemed as if he was going to say something else, when a squeakier, more irritating voice interrupted.

"Oh, good on ya, tellin' her not to be worried! We've crashed on a _random bloody planet_ for god's sake!" My eyes moved to see a tall, lanky man in cracked glasses and long antique robes. He flailed his arms as he spoke, as if to exaggerate the sarcasm in his words. "Will you shut up, Paris? No one wants to hear you talk," another deep voice drifted from an equally tall man said in the corner of the room. He was leaning up against a table—arms crossed and blue eyes glued on the man Paris in annoyance. Angry arguments began to rise—the entirety of the room engulfed in tension. After a few moments of the dispute, the same deep voice from before silenced all.

"Please, _please!_ " The holy man looked around at his fellow isolates in shock and disappointment. "It is one thing to make tensions rise in a situation like this, but to frighten children is another!" he said. His mannerisms portrayed anger, but his voice showed mercy. It was calm throughout everything—quiet and just. The two men who started the argument, Paris and the other, still glared at each other from across the room as the consecrated man continued.

"We were put here for a reason. If to redeem ourselves or be judged remains to be seen," there were eye rolls and soft groans from around the room, but no one interrupted the man's speech. "We must find a way off of this world together, and being at each other's throats will not help," He said, softer than ever. After studying his associates for a few short moments, he turned again to look at me.

"Now, child, what is your name?" He held an outstretched arm to me, offering his hand. Zeke walked me over to my surprise, and stood with me before the sanctified fellow. I took my hand that wasn't on the other side of Zeke and hesitantly placed it in his, speaking softly—my eyes returning to study my shoes.

 _"_ _Emma,"_ I said. I glanced up and saw a genuine smile—one that reached the man's shiny black eyes. "Lovely, my dear," he said, "My name is Imam, and these are my three sons, Hassan, Ali, and Suleiman." I looked over to see three tall boys standing close to Imam, all in robes like his own—turbans covering their heads. One looked me over anxiously, another trembling and staring off somewhere else, and the last smiling faintly and blushing as he made eye contact with me. I nodded at them and smiled as best I could through the confusion and pain, then turned my attention back to their 'father.'

"You have already met Zeke and Miss Shazza," he said, nodding his head towards the woman from before. She smiled softly again, in a welcoming way. I did the same to her. Imam showed me all of the people in the room. The skittish man with the glasses' name was Paris, I remembered. There was a boy named Jack with a shaved head and brown eyes, and the man with the steel blues—Johns, I was told. There was another woman as well. Her name was Carolyn Fry. Each of the ten gave me their hellos—some friendly and some halfhearted—and I did my best to return their mannerisms kindly. Zeke moved to put me down on a makeshift chair so we both could rest, and I smiled at him gratefully. But I looked around a few more times and felt something was missing.

"Where are all the others? The Captain?" I asked. The room fell silent and any trace of optimistic energy was decimated. Imam spoke up softly once again, his sad eyes meeting mine from his place in the room.

"We few are the only ones, child," he said. "The Captain's wounds were too great to heal. We had no means to save him." My heart plunged again and my face showed sorrow like nothing else. There were soft murmurs about the lost, and from the corner of my eye I could see Carolyn holding her head in her hands. But the feeble words for the lifeless turned to curious whispers when Johns went to storm out of the room. Carolyn noticed and rushed after him before he could disappear.

"Where are you going, Johns? I thought we were _sticking together_ ," she scolded, and he whipped around to face her—challenge in his eyes. "Yeah, well unless you wanna be _gutted_ in your sleep, Fry, I suggest you leave me be so I can do my job," he said, this time succeeding to leave without any hangers-on. I felt my brows come together in confusion.

"What job?" I asked to no one in particular, and then felt a small presence at my side. I turned and met eyes with my new visitor. It was Jack. He sat on his haunches and leaned in towards me.

"Johns is apparently a cop," he said, smirking softly at me in knowing way. My face disclosed my untiring confusion and I spoke, eyeing Jack's face suspiciously, "And who does he need to hunt out there? Imam just said we're all that's left," I asked skeptically, and Jack's smirk dwindled a bit.

"No, you misunderstood," he said, and my lips parted in a silent question.

"There were _twelve_ survivors."


	3. Chapter 3

On The Hunt

 _"_ _What?_ What do you mean _twelve?"_

Jack looked at me incredulously. "You didn't know?" I slowly shook my head, keeping my eyes on his. "There was a Con on this ship before we landed," he leaned in and whispered, as if not to draw attention from the others. I tilted my head to the side in attentiveness. "Maybe you all counted wrong. He could have been left in the rubble," I suggested—noting an obvious possibility. Jack chuckled, shaking his head. "Not likely. We've seen the pod he was locked in. Not a scratch on it. Door's wide open," he said, and a look of worry crossed my face. "The impact loosened the bolts enough to let him out," Jack said in awe, his eyes wide with fascination. It worried me a bit, actually. I started thinking hard about it, trying to picture what the criminal looked like. All kinds of images ran through my head, and all of them made my skin crawl.

"Wanna go check it out?" I heard, throwing me from my train of thought. My eyes grew wide once more as I looked at him in shock. A devilish smile was on his face. "Are you _insane?_ " I asked, keeping my voice to a low hiss. His smile grew ever wider, his eyes never leaving mine. "Maybe. So? You down?" he shuddered with excitement. I glanced down at my leg, somewhat relieved for my injury now.

"I can't," I looked up at him and waited for the disappointment to surface on his features. It didn't. "Oh, right, that," he chuckled, pointing at my leg, "No worries, I'll carry you!" he beamed at me, persistent to the end. I groaned internally as he stood up and helped me do the same.

* * *

It took a little longer for Jack to get us where we were headed, considering my near useless leg. I had a sure feeling that it was somewhat difficult for him to be supporting me all the way there (considering he was only my size—probably smaller), but he didn't complain once. He was all too enthusiastic to take a look at the unscathed glass cell that awaited us towards the front of the ship's remains. So he kept on—carrying me along just as Zeke did. When we arrived at the pod, it was just as he said. Kept and intact.

There were restraints on the inside—for both hands and feet. It was evident that this convict was a force to be reckoned with. I began to get nervous, and spoke to Jack without removing my eyes from the containment cage. They were trained to it in dread.

"Jack…?" I asked softly. He gave a noise of acknowledgement—his eyes still focused on the pod. I gulped and continued with my interrogation. "W-what did he do?" I was almost afraid of receiving an answer. I looked at him this time, but he kept his eyes on his prize—beaming with delight.

"Oh, escaped a few slams, cut a few throats, hijacked some militia vessels—no biggie," my eyes returned to the confine, wider than before. Now I was sure that this boy was insane. _"_ _No biggie,"_ I said under my breath, but it seemed he heard. "Huh?" he asked, his voice chipper. "Nothing," I stared one last time at the glass shell and urged Jack to turn us around. "Let's head back."

* * *

When we got back to the main room, everything was in an uproar. There were people arguing, some turning to panic, pacing and praying. Carolyn came over to us as soon as she noticed our return. She looked worried—her eyes blown like mine had been.

"Don't you know better than to wander off, especially in situations like this?!" She grabbed Jack's arm gently and let him walk me back over to my chair before pulling him off to the side into what looked like a lecture. I was too busy watching I didn't see Shazza stoop down beside me.

"You alright, love?" I nearly spit out my heart, and when I looked at her her hands were held up defensively. _"_ _Easy,"_ she eyed me carefully. "Where'd you and that yahoo run off to?" she asked, "We'd started to worry that somethin'd caught your hind-ends," she watched me as I turned and looked towards the hallway entrance absentmindedly, and when I turned back she seemed to know exactly where we had gone.

"Did that little bugger pull you down there?" She asked, a serious look in her eyes. She seemed a bit annoyed that Jack might've taken me down there. I didn't want to give Jack up, as he seemed to be in a bit of a situation at the moment. A sudden return from Johns saved me from doing so.

"Alright, I need everyone to get together. We need to arm ourselves, incase our evasive little friend decides he wants to rejoin our group," he drawled. Paris sighed in confusion. "What's the point? If he's gone, he's gone. Why should he bother us?" Johns stooped to pick up a vest and clasped it on. "Maybe to take what you got. Maybe to work your nerves. Or maybe to just come back and skull-fuck you in your sleep," I flinched at the _snap_ of the vest's clips. Everyone seemed to scurry to find a weapon after Johns explained. Shazza scoffed next to me and crossed her arms.

"He sounds like a charmer."

* * *

Carolyn and Imam suggested that some of us go and look for water; the booze that Paris offered wouldn't— _couldn't_ —help thirst in the heat. Before we left, Shazza worked her magic on breathers for us. Zeke opted to stay behind and bury what dead he could find from the crash, and Shazza stayed with her husband like always. Paris opted to stay as well. Not to entomb the dead, but to stay as far away from finding Riddick as possible.

Soon the rest of us were out into the sunbaked sand and blistering heat, trudging through the heavy sand. Imam recited holy hymns as we continued on our 'pilgrimage,' as he called it. He did this for a while until Johns stopped our caravan and studied the path ahead. "Trees," he nodded, "And trees mean water."

We all rushed towards the shapes of the vegetation as fast as we could. Jack nearly tripped us both as we hobbled over in excitement. Imam's children fell over onto their garbs once or twice. We were all so ready to dig up that water—fresh or not—and guzzle it. But when we reached the edge of the drop-off leading to the trees, we realized that that was not at all what they were. They weren't our next source of hydration or shade from the desert heat. It was a graveyard, and these were the occupants.

Johns slid down to examine the bones, and Carolyn followed. He helped her, offered her a hand across the steep slope of dirt until she found her balance again. A dull _pang_ sound drew my attention away from the two below and towards Imam and his children. He stood with a small smile on his face while the three boys threw rocks out into the sand. He must've noticed me watching.

"Seven stones," he walked over to where Jack and I stood, looking up and shielding his eyes from the sun. "To keep the devil at bay," I studied him for a moment before looking back over to the boys. Imam nodded out of the corner of my eye and Jack turned us around to see Johns and Carolyn making their way back up the slope. We all waited for his say, since he was the 'authority figure' here. "We keep moving. Water isn't gonna come to us." So he started off, and we followed.

After a walk of a few more miles under scorching suns and crumbling bones above, our group was held up again by the three boys. One of them had picked up a small… it was almost like a toy. It had arms and legs, wheels for feet and a solar cap head. Johns and Carolyn gave each other a look. We kept walking.

What felt like hours later a clearing opened the narrow passageway we were using and revealed a settlement. My lips turned up into a wide smile. We found salvation. Carolyn disappeared to look for others while we stayed the course. Imam's boys came upon a solar machine and called out to their father. We ran over to them and Imam started laughing. "Water!" He chuckled as his boys shouted praise in their Arabic tongue. "They are saying 'God is great,'" Imam told Johns.

They got to work on the machine and Jack stooped to sit me down on a mound of gravel. I squinted up at him and gave him my thanks as he went around to explore. After a while we heard shouting. I was concerned at first. _Riddick,_ I thought. But when shouting turned to laughter, my heart rose a little.

* * *

 _Found you_. He could smell it, stronger than ever now—the sugary aroma. He watched them scurry around like ants below as he sat perched on a sand ledge above their heads. He smirked and stood. He'd have to take a whiff from a closer distance sooner or later.

* * *

"Well would you look at that."

I watched, leaning against the wall as Johns chuckled at Fry's find. A relatively new Skiff. Small, but big enough to carry us all off this rock. Imam kissed his hand and raised it above his head in thanks. Those three climbed aboard to inspect the interior and I looked around to find the boys when I realized something. They had disappeared. I turned and looked around the side of the cabin. No one.

"Suleiman?" Nothing. I did my best to hobble around the settlement to find them, but it looked as barren as it had when we came. "Ali?" Maybe the youngest of the boys had dragged his 'brothers' off to look at something. No answer. Hassan's name was ready to fall from my lips when I heard something harsh in the distance. I whipped around to head back but saw Johns round the corner. "What's going o- _oof!"_ He stooped and picked me up by my waist, throwing me over his shoulder. "Time to go," was his only answer and I didn't have the guts to question it. Not until we got back to the crash site.


	4. Chapter 4

Decisions

We didn't even reach the crashed cabin before I heard the shouting. Gunshots and shouting. Johns put me down behind one of the bone formations sprouting out of the ground and crouched behind another, peering over the side of it before quickly jerking back. It was as if to avoid being seen. I did the same, just in case, and heard heavy footfalls before a loud _thud_ sounded right next to my bone pillar. I screamed and looked down at a face that I hadn't seen before.

Johns appeared on top of him and went to wrap his hands around his neck until a leg came up and kicked him away. The man went to scurry up out of the dark sand, throwing it everywhere as he picked himself up. I pushed away from him on my heels and hands, ignoring the sudden pain in my leg. When he came to full height my eyes blew wide. He was _huge_. And getting away. He was getting away, and here I was cowering like a little girl. I felt it. Who wouldn't? This man could dwarf _anyone_ by at least a foot and a half. But he was gone. Just like that, he would disappear again and leave us in suspense. At least, I thought he would until a blur of brown and rust-red toppled him to the ground.

I grasped at the bone to hoist myself up, and in any other situation the sight taking place now would've been funny. Shazza had him tackled and pinned to the ground as she landed quite a few punches to his face. He pushed her off with ease but she persisted. Picking up the torch that was thrown from around her neck, she slammed it against his head violently. Carolyn had to come and pick the brunette up off of him, but she still swung with all her power. _"_ _What did you do to Zeke?!"_ One last blow—a heavy kick to his skull—and he was out like a light.

* * *

She was there when I woke up. The girl. The one that smelled so _good._ I would've scented her if I wasn't in these chains. Hm. Smart. Of course Johnny boy wouldn't leave me unrestrained. Hate to admit it, but he was smarter than that.

She just stared at me with those big green eyes and pouty lips. How pretty. Pale, pink-blotched skin from the heat. Dark hair. And those _eyes._ They'd be the death of me. It seemed she'd taken an interest in mine, too. Damn, forgot I lost my goggles. But it was amusing, to see those doe eyes bug when the shine of mine stared at her. I could hear a faint little gasp and the beat of a fragile little heart. Ooh, I had her scared. Then again, I probably had everyone scared. Even ole' Johns. As soon as the Merc crossed my mind he was in the room to drag her out. The moment he laid his hand on her I felt something deep in my chest and gut. We had always been at the end of each other's guns but now I wanted him at the end of my shiv, bleedin' into the sand beneath my feet. _Ooh, you're lucky I'm chained._

Then another woman came in as the others left, and I was just about done with this before it even started.

"So where's the body?"

* * *

So it was true. _Riddick_ had killed Zeke. I heard Carolyn ask about his body before Johns dragged me out into the sunlight again. Jack was holding Shazza as she wept, and I felt my eyes burn with that familiar feeling too. After all we'd been through, he still had to take a life. It made me sick. Well, that and something else entirely.

I felt a sharp sting in my leg and fell to my ass as soon as Johns let go of my arm. Clutching at the fabric of my ripped pants leg, I could see something writhing just beneath. I leaned down to rip it farther and see. Regret filled my stomach, along with bile that threatened to surface. Maggots and sand clung to my soft, bloody flesh and I turned away to keep from gagging. It didn't help. I cried out before retching into the sand, shaking violently. I felt hands on me, heard voices trying to comfort and offer help but consciousness faded before they could.

* * *

The woman wasn't even done with her interrogation before I heard the unmistakable sound of vomiting. I would've chuckled if it hadn't been for the fact that it was _her._ If I wasn't pissed before. I saw Johns carry her back into the shade a few minutes later. Her leg was in rough shape and she was out. I held back a growl.

"That's what you call a patch-up?" I tried not to let the annoyance in my voice show. Johns only glared up at me before setting her down on the floor. "I need some help here!" A few more people came in behind Johns when they heard him. "Any of you know medicine?" They all shook their heads. I rolled my eyes. _Where's your dope when ya need it, Johns?_

"Let me." _What the fuck?_ That was the first time in a _long_ time I had offered to save someone's life. I'd usually be doin' the exact opposite. Johns looked at me like I had lost my mind. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?" He narrowed his eyes at me. I shrugged. "You got any better ideas, Billy-boy?"

Everything went quiet for a second, and I half expected Johns to let her die right there on the weld-work. He'd never been one to care much. He sneered and jerked his gun out of its holster before aiming it at me. _What a way to go._ But again, the Merc surprised me. The ring of the bullet sounded in my ears at the same time the chains loosened on my wrists. I immediately grabbed for my shiv and met Johns' eyes. Still pointing that gat at me. I walked over and everyone backed away. The Merc stood up and I looked at him, waiting. "What do you need?" I glanced at the wound on her leg. _Nasty._

"You stay here. I'll get it."

I walked out of the wreckage before Johnny could protest. I don't know why I had it in my mind to come back after actually finding supplies. I knew he didn't expect me to come back. Hell, that made two of us.


	5. Chapter 5

Conversations and Proper Healing

Everything was blurry when I woke up. I could make out shapes and colors, but they all blended together like a puzzle I couldn't solve. It stayed that way for the longest time. At least, until something wet and cold and awful tasting hit my face. Booze?

I shot up, gasping for air and shaking the chilled liquor from my face and hair. It burned my nose and eyes, so much that I wasn't expecting to be able to see Paris standing at my feet with an empty bottle of his very best. Everyone looked up at him incredulously. He shrugged. "What?"

Glancing down at my leg, I felt that I might retch again—my eyes shifting and struggling to stay open. Johns was at the door pacing back and forth, wiping the sweat from his face with his hands. I looked at Carolyn by my side to ask, but her eyes on Riddick answered before I could. Only, when I turned to look at him myself, he was gone. Panic rose in my blood.

"Where is he?" Jack started saying something, but was interrupted by the _thud_ of Johns' back against metal as he was pushed out of the way. Riddick stormed through, carrying a bundle of things in one hand and a sharp, shiny blade in the other. He stalked towards me in heavy strides and everyone shot up again to move out of his way. He dragged an empty pilot's chair out of the corner and, snaking his arm around my waist, sat me down in it. Stooping on his haunches, he laid all of his supplies down next to the seat. As he went about his work, rummaging through the things that he happened to find, I came back to the knowledge that he had killed the first friend I had made on this world. My eyes welled up with hot, salty tears. He stopped as he heard me sniff, going completely still. I could feel him staring at me through his reobtained goggles. I almost found the courage to say something until he lifted his shiv and drove it towards my leg.

"No!" The tip of the blade had gone through the fabric of my pants and barely touched my skin before he pulled it towards him, tearing my pants-leg in two. I eyed him with wide eyes and creased brows as he tore my pants leg away from my skin and examined my wound. I felt my face flush with heat and averted my eyes from the group—from _him_. The corner of his mouth drew up in disgust at the sight of it.

"Who the hell did this?" The timbre of his voice surprised me. I didn't expect his voice to be high pitched, not at all. But I definitely didn't expect it to be so… _deep._ Shazza stepped up from behind Imam and clenched her fists. "My _husband_ did that," she growled out. He didn't meet her hateful stare, only dug around through the supplies. He nodded though, and grunted before picking up a bottle of salve or _something._ "Well," he said, opening the container. "Maybe it's best he's gone," over Riddick's broad shoulder I could see Shazza's color physically change. From a light tan to a red so bright it would put the devil to shame. "Seems he couldn't dress a wound worth _shit_."

Johns had to catch Shazza before she pounced on Riddick again, as if the hulking convict didn't remember the first time. I could've sworn I saw the faintest trace of a smirk on Riddick's face, but when I looked again it wasn't there. "Alright, everyone—out!" Johns dragged a kicking and screaming Shazza outside. Some of the others lingered for a while, but eventually they all followed blue-eyes out. That left me and him.

Everything was quiet for a while—only the sounds of the supplies being rummaged through and the steady breathing from the man in front of me. He was organizing, getting all of his materials situated before he started. The time in between allowed me to study him.

I remembered his height. He was tall, six foot at the very least. Not one inch of him wasn't brawny, from what I could see. His honey-colored skin was tight around his large muscles—slickened with a thin sheet of sweat. I watched as a tiny beads of it ran from his brow to his lips and down, slipping beneath a pure black wife beater. Goggles of the same color covered his eyes—those _eyes._ God, I remembered when I first saw them. A shudder ran down my spine at the recollection, my toes tingling. He didn't seem to notice, though. I was grateful for that. Johns walked in quietly and stopped at Riddick's side. The convict raised a hand, palm open, and waited. I could hear Cop grumble something under his breath, giving a small orange tube and a syringe to Riddick before leaving us again. The air seemed to get extremely thin around me, but Riddick seemed to be doing just fine. He grabbed my arm—not too rough, but with authority. I watched, wondering if this wasn't a good idea—to leave me alone with him. Shouldn't someone be keeping watch?

He stuck the needle of the syringe into the vibrant little tube and a thin, clear liquid was sucked up into the reservoir. He plucked it from the bantam cylinder, bringing it towards the crease in my arm. "Hold still, sweetheart. This may pinch a bit," before I could react in any way to the 'endearment,' he moved—sticking the needle into my skin. I gasped softly in surprise and slight pain—my teeth coming down on my lower lip to keep from biting my tongue. He threw away the syringe and grabbed his knife again. I gulped and immediately heard his dominating timbre. "It'll be over in a minute. Just don't move." Even when he spoke low I could feel the vibrations of his voice.

"How many?" I found myself asking before I could stop. He tilted his head in acknowledgement, but didn't look up. I took that as a response, and continued. "How many have you killed?" It was barely audible. This time he did look up, and his lips were pulled into a thin line. He sighed through his nose and put his hands on either sides of my legs—setting his weight on the pilot's chair.

"Now, do you really wanna know the answer to that question, kid?" For the umpteenth time that day, my stomach lurched. When I didn't answer, he nodded his head curtly—a gruff noise coming from his throat.

"That's what I thought."

He went back to fixing up my leg, quiet the whole time. I mirrored his silence—finding I had nothing to say to the man patching up my leg. Was I even right to assume that he was, in fact, a man? God, I didn't know. With his size and low, gravelly timbre and metallic eyes—those _eyes—_ he surely didn't seem like one. And though I knew men were capable of such horrendous things as murder, I felt that he didn't kill like a man. All I felt before me was a _beast_ , one that somehow couldn't— _wouldn't_ — be caged. As I thought, my focus absentmindedly shifted to an opposite side of the room and away from his agile hands. They were calloused, I felt it, but they were working gently. He was full of surprises.

Without warning I felt a surging, stinging pain run down the length of my injured limb and yelped—swinging my head around to see what had happened. He callously set the bottle of alcohol down on the floor again—screwing the top back on as if my cry of hurt meant nothing in the world. _"_ _Fuck,"_ I said under my breath as I held on to the armrests of the chair, my knuckles white with pressure. The alcohol burned my oozing flesh, making the exposed blood bubble with the sudden impact. I hissed a long breath in between my teeth. But in an instant, my pain turned to shock and mortification. His hands were on my thighs, way too close for comfort. My eyes shot up to look at his face which was void of all emotion, and I tried to scold him in a harsh tone but barely managed to squeak my complaint out.

"W-what are you doing?!" He answered in the calmest tone I had ever heard.

"Speeding up the healing process," he explained. My eyes blew wide and my mouth dropped open in shock. I didn't know where he learned medicine, but I was fairly sure this was _not_ how to do such a thing. He sighed through his nose.

"I just pumped full-throttle opium into your blood. Heartbeat rises, blood flows faster," He droned. I closed my mouth, nearly gaging on how dry my throat had suddenly become. I swallowed and apparently he heard, because when he finally let go and grabbed the gauze, he said something that made me cough in shock.

"Hands could've been farther up."

I kept my mouth shut as he finished up rubbing down and wrapping my leg. When he was finally done, he stood straight and lifted me from my waist out of the chair. He set me on my feet and instantly I felt a difference in my leg. The alcohol and salve stopped the dull ache the gash had given off, and the way he wrapped my leg actually allowed me to stand right. I glanced up at him and he stretched out his arm. _Walk._ I returned my attention to the broken doorframe in front of me, and took a trivial step. I winced just before my foot met the ground. I laughed breathily—the only pain that came was like that of a bee sting. Barely there now.

I took another step, and another. And another. Until I was stepping over the landing of the crashed ship and back into the sand, smiling in relief.


End file.
